


In the Wild Country

by thewestmeadow



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Dancing, Fluff, Friendship, Guns, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-12-25 22:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18270617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewestmeadow/pseuds/thewestmeadow
Summary: Michael invites you, his best friend and co-worker, to a Romani party in the country outside of Birmingham. As you explore a way of life far different from your own, you help Michael to understand the different lives he leads.





	In the Wild Country

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peakyblinders1919](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peakyblinders1919/gifts).



Michael Gray looked good when he smoked, and he knew it. You had to admit it, too, but you also cringed inside every time he lit up. Especially since he had developed a new cough. As a first tentative step (though towards what, you weren’t sure), you had stopped sharing cigarettes with him during breaks at the office. You remembered in the early days of working as his assistant accountant when he didn’t smoke. Now he was always bumming cigarettes off of his mum when she stopped by.

You and Michael worked well together, and though you couldn’t deny that he was a very fine man, neither of you had shown interest in pursuing anything more than friendship. In fact, it was a friendship too valuable to risk with something as dangerous as love, especially when it came to a Shelby, or in this case, a Gray.

Working for Shelby Company Limited was about the best job an accountant could get. Of course, this depended on the nature and personality of the accountant. If you wanted to sit safely in an office crunching reliable numbers and going home each day comfortably exhausted from a job well done, then fine, you might not want to work for the Shelbys. But if there was a streak of wildness in your inner being, and you also happened to be an accountant by trade, then you might be secretly thrilled to find that such a perfect job existed.

At lunch there was whisky. In the evenings there might be fighting. The stakes were always high, and the numbers often lied. The numbers were seductive, fluctuating things, with minds of their own. Michael knew how to grapple with them, his pen making rapid dark marks on documents while a cigarette floated close by between two fingers.

You would sit hunched at your desk churning out figures as quickly as you could, and when Michael gave his abrupt commands, you answered swiftly and efficiently. He knew he could count on you, and even when something went wrong, you were there to catch each other and work it out as equals.

When the lunch hour struck, it was like letting out a huge breath that you had been holding all day. Michael leaned back in his chair and took a long, slow stretch. Then he looked over at you and said the name of your favorite restaurant. You nodded, he grabbed his coat, opened the door, and off the two of you went.

He smoked on the brisk walk to the restaurant. It was cold, and his breath mingled with smoke from his cigarette. You walked at his side with your hands deep in the pockets of your red coat. Michael took after Tommy when it came to fashion; each day he was well dressed in a three piece suit with the chain of his pocket watch glinting from his pocket.

“I’m exhausted,” he murmured, and you nodded in agreement.

“How was last night?” you asked.

Michael grinned slightly as he remembered. “A blast, actually. We’re going again tonight. Can you make it?”

You pondered his invitation. Michael’s people in the country were throwing a non-stop party that had been going on for days. Since living with his Romani relatives while in hiding, a new side of Michael had emerged. Sometimes when you looked at him, you wondered what this young man would be like had he continued to grow up in the safety of his adopted home. Instead, here was a man who danced and drank and rode horses, who aimed guns at other men without qualm, and who kept the books for the biggest criminal organization in England.

“I’d love to,” you said. “If I can keep up with you all.”

“Don’t worry.” He draped an arm over your shoulders as you strode together down the sidewalk, giving you a broad smile. “I know you can.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, he tossed away the remains of his cigarette and swung around to open the door for you.

* * *

 

Back at work, you began to anticipate the end of the day. You and Michael were sluggishly working through the post-lunch crash when Tommy dropped in.

He stepped briskly through the doorway and pointed at Michael. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

He nodded, then looked over at you. Pointed his finger at you questioningly.

“She’s in,” Michael said.

Tommy grinned approvingly, and without another word, slipped out the door.

“Isn’t it wrong to party with your boss?” you asked when you were sure Tommy was gone.

“As long as you don’t shoot him. Aiming a gun at him, though, that’s probably acceptable.”

You laughed, shaking your head. No, this was no ordinary accounting job.

* * *

 

Towards the end of the day, Michael sighed, pushed away his work, and lit up a cigarette. He leaned back in his leather office chair and smoked as the golden light came through the window over his shoulder. You glanced up at him, still in the middle of your work.

“Fuck it,” he said. “Do you want to do any more work today?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

You swiveled around in your chair, leaning back and watching him, your fingers laced.

“So what should I expect tonight?”

“Madness,” he mused. “Absolute madness. Blood, probably. But you won’t get hurt. Could ride a horse if you wanted.”

“I want to ride a horse.”

Michael nodded. Though he didn’t give much away, you knew he remembered every word uttered in his presence. For better or for worse.

There was a knock on the doorframe, and Polly peered into the room.

“I hear you’re joining in on the festivities tonight,” she said, a hint of mischief in her voice.

“Yes ma’am,” you said with a grin.

“Michael,” she said, turning serious.

“Yes?” he replied slowly.

“Take care of her. Don’t let anyone take her on a horse if they’re drunk. Unless it’s you.” She paused. “Or Tommy. Or possibly Aberama Gold. Forget it—just see that she doesn’t get hurt. And don’t drink Johnny Dogs’s booze. Tommy might try and push his gin on you, but you don’t have to drink it. There will be plenty more going around.”

She gazed at you, considering what she might have forgotten. Then she smiled. “It’ll be a damn good time.” Polly brushed out of the office, the sound of her heels echoing through the rooms.

* * *

 

Michael came with you to your apartment to get ready. It was still light out, but evening was coming fast. You grabbed a better coat, and when you came out of your room you found Michael pouring liquor from his flask into one of your own.

“You’re out,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, taking the flask and tucking it into your coat. You looked around to see if you had forgotten anything. He peered at your small apartment, leaning on the kitchen counter. Your life outside of the office was relatively simple; you had been able to make a good living working for Tommy Shelby and could support yourself thanks to his employment. Michael, however, never had a break from that chaotic life.

“Sometimes I can’t believe this is my life,” he said suddenly in his low, even voice. You sat down in your only armchair, crossing your legs.

“What’s this all about?”

“My family is insane.”

“Yeah, but they’re great.”

“They’re fucking nuts,” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. A distant look came into his eyes. There had been plenty in his relatively short time with the Shelby’s to scar any man. A noose around the neck, gun after gun to the head. When that look appeared in his eyes, you could be sure one of these memories was playing out again in his head.

“Michael,” you said. “Look at your life now. You know numbers and horses. You can take care of yourself and have a good time. You have more family than you could ever imagine.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, and every bloody time we get together I find out there’s more.”

You laughed, and Michael started to loosen up.

“Alright,” he said, life coming back into his eyes. “We’re going to have a good fucking time tonight. And you’re going to ride a horse.”

“I’m going to ride a horse,” you said, toasting him. He raised his flask, and you both turned them up.

* * *

 

The car bumped over the country roads outside of Birmingham. In the dark you couldn’t see where you were going, but Michael knew every turn. He peered out the window to where great bonfires cast a glow into the midnight sky. A light grin came over his lips.

“Ready for this?” he asked.

“Definitely not,” you said, fidgeting in your seat. You had grown up in the city, and while you could easily keep up in the pubs and taverns, a Romani party was outside your realm of experience. You could already hear unearthly bellows from the direction of the party, and music tinged with drums and cymbals.

“Come on, city person,” he said as he swung the door open and pulled you out with him. Funny, you thought. You had always considered Michael to be the city boy.

There were wagons parked all around, made of ornately carved wood and painted in vibrant colors. Several fires were burning, around which people danced and ate and drank. Horses stood patiently in the dark, their wet eyes flickering with firelight.

As you walked through the smoke and the mystic atmosphere, various bottles of liquor were thrust at you from passing revelers. Michael waved them off, walking ahead of you towards one wagon in particular. A man with longish hair sat on the wooden steps smoking a cigarette. He looked up at you and Michael with glinting eyes.

“This is Aberama Gold,” Michael said. “Aberama, meet my best mate, Y/N.”

You grinned inwardly and reached out to shake Aberama’s hand.

“Aberama took care of me while I was in hiding,” Michael continued. “Showed me a thing or two about Romani life.”

“We can show you a thing or two tonight, if you like, Y/N. Sometimes blood’s not the only thing that makes a family.”

“I am very interested in horses,” you blurted.

“Is that so?” Aberama winked at Michael. “Might be a horse around here that would interest you. I’ll find you.”

With that he waved the two of you off towards the festivities.

“Aberama’s a hitman,” Michael explained, and a foreboding shudder went through you. There was always another side to things in Michael’s world.

You found yourselves standing by a bonfire watching a wild dance. Before you knew it, Tommy flashed before your eyes holding a bottle of liquor which he shoved into Michael’s hands. Though Tommy never broke his composure, you could tell he was teetering on the edge of being very drunk.

He gave you a little bow and said, “Care to dance?”

Shocked, you started to make an excuse, but Michael shoved you forward, and Tommy whirled you around the fire, surrounded by sparks and other dancing pairs. The people around the fire cheered uproariously as Tommy led you in a breathless dance, keeping a respectful distance, his hands appropriately placed.

Suddenly everything was very real, very raw. The sweat on the faces, the cold air in your lungs heating up, the sparks flying into the night sky. You saw Michael grinning and clapping and turning up his bottle. There was a sheer joy and ease on the faces of everyone present.

When Tommy finally let you go, you stumbled back to Michael’s side and he handed you the bottle, which you accepted enthusiastically. Tommy gave another little bow and a smirk, and was off. Something to talk about at the office on Monday.

When the liquor started to kick in, things seemed to move very quickly. Next thing you knew, you were off with Michael, Arthur, and John shooting guns across a wide meadow. You wouldn’t touch the weapons, instead holding your flask and swaying pleasantly back and forth on your feet. The boys hollered as they fired into the dark. Michael then came over with his firearm.

“Okay. I know you’re not comfortable with guns, but listen. We’re going to teach you proper gun safety. Right boys?”

You were shaking your head, but Michael held up a steady hand, calming you with his even eyes.

“Look, I’m not drunk. You’re not drunk…well, you are a bit tipsy. Here.”

He put the safety on and handed you the weapon. He stood by as Arthur and John shuffled out of the way, grinning and swaying.

“Listen up, Y/N,” Arthur bellowed, “Even Shelby accountants know how to shoot, y’hear?”

You grinned, but kept your attention on Michael, the only one here you really trusted with your life. “Okay. So what do I do?”

“Don’t take the safety off until you’re ready to shoot. Aim it away.”

You lifted the heavy pistol and aimed it into the dark field.

“There’s no one out there, right?”

Arthur and John cracked up. “Bloody well hope not.”

You shot them a panicked look.

“There’s not,” Michael reassured you. He demonstrated how to stand, and you replicated his posture.

“Now just flip the safety off and fire away.”

He stepped back to watch. You glanced over your shoulder at Michael, John, and Arthur. They watched patiently, amused.

“Go on.”

You turned your eyes back to the dark field. Nothing moved out there. The din of the party was muffled. You squeezed the trigger; it took more strength than you thought. Then the gun blasted out into the dark, shocking you backwards.

The boys whooped and hollered, and patted you on the back. You froze, holding the gun away from you like some poisonous object.

“Safety,” Michael called out. You flipped the switch, then quickly handed the gun back to him. “Nice job.”

When you stepped back, you felt the adrenaline surging through you along with the liquor.

“That was something,” you said, and they all laughed.

“It’s something every time you pull that trigger,” Arthur said. “But you better be ready. Every time.”

He swung around and fired into the dark field once more, shots piercing the still darkness out there.

It was a little later when Aberama Gold appeared with the horses. You didn’t see him at first; you were enraptured with watching Polly read Esmé’s palm. Only when Michael nudged you and pointed did you let out a little gasp. The man was leading a white horse and a brown horse through the darkness towards the fire.

“Fancy a midnight ride?” he said. He handed the reins of the brown horse to Michael, who mounted it with ease. You looked carefully at Aberama and remembered Polly’s words. The man mounted the white horse and held out his hand to you.

“Better if I drive,” he said as you clambered up, maintaining your dignity. The smell of sweat, horses, and alcohol mingled sharply in the cold, clear air. He clicked his tongue, and along with Michael the three of you set out into the cool night. You rode across the same meadow that your bullet had grazed, holding tightly to the middle of the Romani man before you, Michael riding easily alongside.

Being on horseback was much harder work than you imagined; it was a test just to stay upright. But you managed proudly, and breathed in the feeling of freedom that came with it.

Aberama led you out to the edge of the meadow, where some other revelers had made a small fire and were drinking and talking quietly. When you slid off the horse your legs almost went out from under you, and Michael and Aberama took both your elbows. Aberama smiled and tipped his hat. “Michael can ferry you back when you’re ready.”

The two of you filled your flasks by the fire and set off on a walk around edge of the meadow. You were both quite drunk by this point; you could tell Michael was by the redness in his eyes.

“What do you think?” he wanted to know.

“Of what?”

“Everything.” He waved his hand in a wide arc.

“That’s a lot to cover.”

He snorted, digging around in his coat for a cigarette. You cut your eyes at him.

“If you keep smoking those things, you’ll die young,” you said.

“Fuck the cigarettes,” Michael said, lighting a match, “I’m going to die young anyway.”

This stung you. Fine thing to say to your best friend, you thought.

“You really believe that?”

“Look at this life,” he said, waving his hand around again. “I could’ve died twelve times tonight.”

“Twelve’s a bit much.”

“Kicked in the head by a horse, shot by Arthur, tossed in the fire by Tommy.” He started counting on his fingers.

“Why would Tommy toss you in the fire?”

He ignored you. “I just don’t see me living very long.” All the while taking long, frantic drags on his cigarette.

You gave him a light shove. “Shut up,” you mumbled.

He dropped against a tree with a sigh.

“It doesn’t seem real sometimes,” he said. “I feel like another version of me is living a totally different life. I don’t know how to interact with that person.”

You nodded in understanding. “Well, while you’re over here having an existential crisis, I’ve ridden a horse, shot a gun, and danced with my boss, the most notorious criminal in Birmingham. Thanks to you.”

“That does make me happy.”

“Then snap out of it!” you exclaimed, grabbing Michael and shaking his shoulders. You both began to laugh, until the laughter turned into a fit of giggles that wouldn’t stop. You stood there shaking by the tree, laughing uncontrollably.

You smacked him on the shoulder.

“Come on. I want to ride that horse again.”

Michael flicked his cigarette away and followed you back to the camp. You could still hear him cracking up behind you.

“You can take the person out of the city, but you can’t… how does it go?”

“Fuck if I know, country boy.”

* * *

 

On Monday, it was back to work. You tried to slink past Tommy’s open door without him noticing, not caring to bring up the night of dancing and debauchery.

“Morning, Y/N,” he called, not letting you get away.

“Morning.”

You quickly ducked into Michael’s office. He was sitting there with a paper in one hand and, unusually, without a cigarette in the other.

“I’m quitting smoking,” he said without any pleasantries.

You just nodded, trying not to grin. Then you couldn’t help it anymore; you burst into a grin, bringing a smirk to Michael’s lips.

“I won’t be smiling in a couple of days.”

“Believe me, I know. I dread it as much as you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> What a fun request! Hope you enjoy this! I loved working with Michael and Reader as friends with a close bond. Really got my imagination going with fun situations.
> 
> Thank you to Ashling for being a beta reader for this work. It's a stronger piece thanks to you!
> 
> And lastly, the reader is gender ambiguous, so hopefully anyone will feel comfortable placing themselves in this story.


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